


Day 21: Large Insertion

by Aichi



Series: Kinktober 2020 [21]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Body Modification, Constriction, Dehumanization, Despair, Dubious Consent, Gender-neutral Reader, Large Insertion, Orgasm Denial, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27505624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aichi/pseuds/Aichi
Summary: Continuing from day twelve, Chaos Breaker's newest toy finally experiences Despair, and also some other things.
Relationships: Chaos Breaker Dragon/Reader
Series: Kinktober 2020 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951588
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Day 21: Large Insertion

**Author's Note:**

> Also, sort of exhibitionism, I guess, but not enough to tag it? Maybe. Mind the tags, but mostly mind the same warnings as the other Chaos/Reader fills (which you should read first, in order, by the way); written as consensual but still MEGA DUBIOUS CONSENT WARNING DUE TO THE NATURE OF.. THE SITUATION. EVERYTHING. These are things that it is strictly impossible to consent to in real life, but this is a story about made up sci-fi dragon aliens so we are stretching the limits of just about everything here. Please note also due to this there are no archive warnings on this one, because while it's not actually "noncon" I am really not happy with ticking "no warnings apply" here.
> 
> There's actually no blood or gore in this one but somehow it's the fuckiest of the lot. Sorry(?????)
> 
> Honestly I think I filled about half my prompts at once with this alone.
> 
> EDIT: AAAAAA PLEASE READ THE OTHER PARTS FIRST I'M BEGGING YOU YOU'RE MISSING OUT ON THE PROGRESSION WHY DOES THIS HAVE MORE HITS THAN THE REST

The one thing Chaos Breaker never does, throughout the entire slow process of transforming you into his puppet, is fuck you.

It had always been an integral part of your fantasies back home, in the long-lost privacy of your room and thoughts, but in reality he hasn’t shown any interest at all. Sometimes, within the scant windows of freedom left to you, you wonder if he simply _can’t_. He’s several times your height, after all, but at the same time, you can’t imagine that he’d let something as minor as the threat of crushing you to death stop him; no, he’d just remake your body into one more suited to taking someone of his size. But he hasn’t, and you’re left to wonder if he really isn’t interested, or if he has another toy he’s retrofitted for that purpose. The idea makes a bitter, ugly emotion rise like bile in your throat.

What he _does_ do, often, is have you simply follow him around like a pet. Whether he’s ordering the other Star-vaders about, observing their activities, or working on one of his other experiments, you trot after him like a loyal puppy, small and subservient and, as always, entirely naked except for your softly-glowing metal collar. It resembles one of the thrumming red-and-black rings he sometimes creates with a snap of his claws, the ones he likes to use to bind you in midair, or upside down, or whatever position amuses him in that moment; once, he left you hanging by your ankles in a back corner of his lab for over a day, and you absolutely didn’t believe the feigned dismay in his ‘apology’, or his insistence that he had simply forgotten you were there.

You can’t respond to him anyway, of course, because you haven’t spoken a word of your own in over a month. Chaos Breaker talks a lot, effectively to himself, but the only sounds that pass your lips in reply are the automatic, robotic-sounding venerations he pushes through your artificial voicebox. _Yes, sir. Of course, sir. May I please have the honor of polishing your beautiful scales, sir._

There’s no _obedience_ in anything you do anymore; even _that_ freedom has long since been stripped away from you. 

Even your limbs move on their own, sparks in your veins delivering orders from the chip in the back of your skull, keeping you at his heels wherever he goes. As he presides over the bridge of his ship — or space station, whatever it is, you don’t truly know, and he probably thinks it’s more fun to keep you in the dark — you stand at his side, rigid and robotic, frail and fleshy, bare and exposed to the entire crew, though none of them give you a second glance.

You’re not the first doll he’s built amidst the broken bones and skin of a human, and you know, bitterly, that you won’t be the last.

It’s become, over time, easier and easier to sink into yourself, to stop thinking, to stop being afraid or ashamed or hurt and just _exist_ like this. The noise and movement of the bridge pass around you as if you were trapped inside a bubble, as if all your senses were smothered by a blanket, and the only thing that feels _real_ in the world is _him_. He’s saying something to one of the crew in a language you don’t understand — you don’t understand anything any of them say, and it only makes you feel even more trapped, more desperate to cling to him — and his tail is lashing irritably, the way it does when your limbs occasionally break down and he has to pry you apart all over again to fix them. You’re sure he enjoys _that_ , at least, and that his frustration is with the imperfections of the design more than anything else, but it doesn’t stop the memory of pain sizzling in your joints at the sight.

The Star-vader’s reply is high-pitched and desperate, and he raises his hands defensively, as if in prayer. It doesn’t stop Chaos Breaker from closing his claws around him, lifting him up, and wrenching him violently in half.

Oil and blood splatter across the deck in front of you. The cyberoid’s legs fall with a sickening crunch, electricity sparking between exposed wires protruding from his torn-off torso, and your eyes widen, flooded with the grotesque sight — but the rest of you remains still as a statue, your breathing even and regulated by the bellows pumping inside your chest. Several of the crew begin scrambling to clean the mess, carting the man’s broken body away, and their bustle around you is as distant as ants scurrying around your feet.

You wonder, absently, if he’ll survive. 

Your train of thought, short as it is, is cut off just as sharply as the cyberoid’s protests by the soft touch of something brushing against your ankle. Your body looks down, and you can’t tell if it’s by your own will or your master’s — you never can anymore — to see that the ‘something’ is Chaos Breaker’s tail, still wriggling in annoyance even as he himself moves on to giving new orders, his victim already forgotten. It curls around your ankle as if it has a mind of its own, and begins to make its way, silvery and serpentine, up your leg.

A quiet gasp slips past your lips as it finds your hips, your stomach, chest, shoulders, gradually encasing you in its thick, tapered coils. You remain, naturally, standing at attention, your arms stiff at your sides, and make no move to squirm out of its grip, because why would you? Whatever game your master is playing, you’re nothing more than a piece in it, to move around as he sees fit.

What he sees fit to do right now, apparently, is use you as a glorified stress ball. His tail tightens, your metallic joints creaking as it flattens your elbows against the sides of your ribs, and all the while, he doesn’t even look at you. Your heart begins to tick faster, sharper as your chest compresses under the weight of his armored scales, and your breath grates roughly in your throat. One by one, your organs — components, really, at this point — crank and shift and whirr into higher gear, compensating for the bone-cracking pressure as he squeezes harder, then releases you for a second, only to crush even tighter again. There seems to be more and more tail all the time, shifting and coiling endlessly over you like the roiling waves of a great ocean, so big that you could drown in it, and you can do nothing but give yourself over to its flow.

Not once do you struggle or scream. You gasp a little with the strain of it all, and something behind your eyes starts to ache, but there’s neither will nor power in you to resist him. There never was.

The pattern of squeezing is so rhythmic and hypnotic that you barely notice at first as the tip of his tail slips between your thighs. It’s only when the fat, blunt tip brushes over the curve of your ass that something short-circuits inside you, and your eyes, the only part of your body that you still have any control over, widen in a blurry mix of shock and sudden, unsteady anticipation.

“Sir—?” you gasp, voice laced with static. It’s impossible to tell if he allowed you to say it, or forced you, but it’s clear the majority of your processing power is going towards breathing right now, and whatever you were going to say next is lost in a burst of electrical buzzing.

Coils around your hips shifting and loosening to make way, the tip of his massive tail presses insistently between your cheeks. Chaos Breaker himself still doesn’t look at you, but his mood seems to have improved already; you’re able to steal a glance upward to see him standing relaxed, humming to himself, as he watches his subordinates scrub the last of the blood from the deck.

There’s no time, and no way, for you to beg for his attention; his tail is already pushing at your entrance, and you start to think that it can’t possibly fit, not even the thinnest point of its tip — but even as the thought lines up in your brain, it _does_. It’s as if he simply ordered you to open for him — no, not _as if_ , because even though you didn’t feel it, you’re sure he _did_ — and it _burns_ , leaves your body crackling and wheezing as your hole stretches around him, what feels like several inches with zero preparation.

All of a sudden, you’re _full_ , fuller than you’ve ever been, even though he can’t be more than an inch inside you. Your body _aches_ with the desperate urge to push, to force him out again, an instinctual urge outside of either your control or his, but it’s meaningless, useless; your ‘instincts’ are little more than a vestigial reminder of the humanity you thought you had.

 _You were never truly human, were you?_ The thought could be yours, or his, or some long-forgotten fragment of brain that isn’t truly either. It doesn’t matter, of course, because everything that you are is _his_ now — and in this moment, bound and penetrated by him in front of who knows how many of his crew, it seems like a joke to imagine that you could have ever been anything else. _The life that you lived before now, every part of it, was simply a prologue to prepare you for what you were always meant to become._

He pushes harder, further, and you _keen_ , metallic and robotic and inhuman, as your body fills and stretches like putty with every scale that slips into you.

The Star-vaders, to their credit, continue to go about their work; you let out a particularly harsh, staticy moan as another inch of your master’s tail sinks into you, and a couple of them glance in your direction, but for the most part, you’re no more interesting to them now than you were before. It’s hard to tell if it should feel relieving or humiliating, and for the most part, it feels nothing at all. Emotions are just yet another privilege you’ve given up, handed over to him, and you feel only the ones his palate allows you.

Chaos Breaker is still humming idly to himself as his tail reaches something unyielding inside you, sending a flare of — not pain, but simple _awareness_ coursing through you. Your body bucks, and you cry out, your head falling back against his coils. The joints in your hips and shoulders jerk and seize, sparks bursting under your skin, and confused, desperate signals flood your pathways like a river spilling over its banks; pain, fear, pleasure, desire, _hope_ —

What you _don’t_ feel, you realize, with a sickening, stomach-dropping finality, is _arousal_.

Inside you, the tip of his tail curls, and pushes, and another several inches of him slide through your impossibly-stretched hole. The edges of his plated scales carve their shapes into your stomach as it distends, your body packed harder and fuller than ever with a pulse-pounding, vision-blurring heat, and you can feel his girth moving, somehow, against the _inside_ of your hips, as if your torso is an empty sleeve of skin and muscle around him, one that should be splintering and tearing and bleeding under even a _fraction_ of this pressure.

Despite it all, there’s not a shred of arousal in your blood. Nothing between your legs responds to him, even though it’s there, in your brain, the _desire_ ; it burns with all the wild heat of an uncontrolled forest fire, surging through your skin and veins and wires and transistors and whatever else you’re made of now, but somehow, none of it reaches your flesh. More and more of his tail worms its way inside you, until he’s squeezing you from both inside and out, the skin of your stomach massaged brutally from both sides as he rubs against himself through the tender barrier of flesh, and through the haze of pain and fire and bliss, you start to cry.

He’s done something to you; it must have been one of the times he worked on you while unconscious, because you never knew — _you never knew_ , and you’ve been waiting, all this time, for him to take you like this, and now he is, and your body simply won’t, _can’t_ respond to it.

You cry, in huge, gulping, chest-heaving sobs, every one disintegrating into static as your processors shift more and more power into cushioning the ever-mounting strain on your hips and stomach. Every moment it feels more like you’re in danger of bursting like an overripe fruit, spilling blood and engine fluids once more over the freshly-cleaned deck, but your master’s work is simply too good, too perfectly cruel, and you’re sure, even as you continue to cry, that he knows exactly how full he can stuff you before you break.

Chaos Breaker turns to you, and your heart ticks furiously as his narrow, gleaming eyes meet yours, because he’s finally remembered that you exist.

“There it is,” he purrs. A claw hooks under your chin in a familiar, almost tender way, and he tilts your head back to take a better look at the fat, ugly tears rolling down your cheeks.

You cry and cry and cry, until your head aches and the skin around your eyes and nose feels hot and puffy, and he holds you the entire time, inside and out, his gaze never leaving yours. Something sleek tickles horribly at the inside of your chest, the bottom of your throat, and you want to throw up. Want to, but mercifully can’t.

“Beautiful,” he says, cupping your tiny head between both hands, claws exploring your cheeks and nose and brow, combing your hair away so he can see your face in its full horrified, defeated glory. “Now _this_ is the despair I’ve been waiting to see from you, my little doll~”

Of course he engineered this. Of course he did. He _must_ have known you dreamed of him fucking you, how could he _not_? He knows everything that you are, more than anyone ever has, and he’s strung you along all this time, building up your _hope_ , making you question it, question his intentions, and then finally giving you what you craved, only for you to discover _it’s impossible for you to enjoy it_.

You cry, and he laughs, his huge, toothed jaw hanging open in a horrible grin, and his laughter shakes the massive length of his tail inside you, blasting your body and brain and processors with wave after wave of fresh, raw pain. You grind against his coils as best you can, because it’s the only thing you can think of, but all it does is twist and stretch the skin of your bulging stomach more painfully than ever.

When he finally slides his tail free, you collapse in a burst of steam from your failing joints, oil dripping steadily between your thighs from a hole stretched to the limit of what your hips will allow, and you don’t stop crying the entire time.

And through all of it, your tiny ticking heart — squashed into a corner of your chest by the fat girth of your master’s tail — swells with something akin to pride, because this despair is the greatest offering you could ever have to give.

**Author's Note:**

> The despair was inevitable. As was the Denial because I feel like people should know me by now on that one lol.
> 
> ...Actually I don't think the writing on this one is very good but I got very carried away with the Events and I'm so behind aaaaaaargh


End file.
